


The mind of the subject will desperately struggle to create memories where none exist

by Justafewthingstosay



Series: The Magnus Archives Au's [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Kinda suicidal thoughts, OG!Elias taken by the lonely, Recreational Drug Use, Thoughts of loneliness, fucking depressing, magnus Server made me do it, no beta we die like men, og!elias, there's like a bunch of weed in this fid, this is just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24560461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justafewthingstosay/pseuds/Justafewthingstosay
Summary: The Magnus Archives server made me do it. This is for you Max.
Series: The Magnus Archives Au's [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775215
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	The mind of the subject will desperately struggle to create memories where none exist

**Author's Note:**

> The Magnus Archives server made me do it. This is for you Max.

Elias started rolling his first blunt of the day at around 9:12am. It wasn’t his favourite strand, he hadn’t been able to afford that one for a while now, but it was one that was going to make him nice and numb, just what he needed for another day in the fucking archives. 

The work itself wasn’t even that bad. It was the people that he worked with. Or assumed that he worked with, it wasn’t really a collaborative thing. At least that’s what he got from the fact that no one ever fucking talked to him. 

Since Michael left, someone that would at least sometimes say “Good Morning,” Elias had been alone. He knew that people didn’t particularly liked working with the pothead of the archive, but it made things easier. At least then they had a reason not to talk to him, not like in the beginning when they just avoided talking to him for no reason.

He lit the twisted paper and took a drag, holding it deep in his lungs before he let it go. The smoke obscuring his vision, the grey outline of it shining in the fluorescent lights in the office that he worked in. The smallest room, at the end of the hall, so no one accidentally walked into him. Another drag, another moment of holding the smoke in his lungs before he pushed it out again to try to get rid of that thought. 

“It was the only office that was free, Elias. They just put you here because it was the only free one when you showed up, no need for your melodramatic tendencies,” he said, holding his hand into the fog as he pushed out another cloud. His hand enveloped in the warmth of his own breath, mixed with the cloud it almost looked like the fog tried to hold his hand.

He would have laughed about it, about the mocking nature of the fog that he created himself if it didn’t remind him of the last time that he did hold someone else’s hand, or more accurately, it reminded him of the fact that he couldn’t even remember when he had.

Did he ever hold anyone’s hand? He must have. His mother probably held his hand when he was a small kid. There must have been a field trip or something where some other student had been forced to hold his hand, right? But if so, why didn’t he remember what it felt like? 

It must have been warm. People normally tend to run warm and he read somewhere that some people get clammy hands. Did he get clammy hands when he held someone’s hand? 

He took another drag instead of trying to answer that question with memories that didn’t exist. 

Slowly his mind started to get foggy, the weed enveloping him like a soft blanket of comfort. A blanket of tiredness and indifference towards the world. 

Only when he was high he could feel as indifferent about other people as they seemed to feel about him.

As he took another drag, another question floated into his mind.

Would anyone care if he just left? 

Surely someone would, right? Someone had to care. Someone had to look at him and see value. 

Maybe Gertrude? She at least sometimes spoke to him. His flatmates? No, they only cared about him when he didn’t pay the rent on time or when he forgot to wash the dishes. His parents? He almost had to laugh at himself for that thought. Yeah, they were definitely not on the list of people that cared.

Maybe the lady at the train station that he said good morning to every day? The pigeons that he threw his leftover chips to when he wasn’t hungry anymore probably appreciated him. 

And then, with a smile, he remembered Brutus, the neighbours’ dog that he sometimes got to pet. He definitely appreciated him. He always rolled over and let him pet his tummy when he saw him. Well, until Mr Richardson wanted to move on, which slowly became sooner rather than later. 

He took another slow drag from the blunt between his fingers, held it in for as long as he could, before pushing it out of his lungs.

  
It was okay like this, he was supposed to be alone. It was just what he was destined to be and it wasn’t like he minded to be alone. Not really. It was comforting, not having to worry if he upset anyone with something he said, or having to remember birthdays. He sometimes almost forgot his own birthday, probably would have multiple times if Snapchat didn’t send him those small videos every time. Which was probably the only reason why he still had the app installed on his phone.

He would forget when his birthday was otherwise. It wasn’t even really that important, his birthday. In the end, it was just the day that he was born, he really didn’t understand why people celebrated birthdays in the first place. There wasn’t really anything to gain from doing so. If you count out the presents and the people telling you that they love and care about you and that they’re happy that you’re still- 

Another drag from his blunt, the smoke settling in his lungs comfortably. There was no reason to think about that. Not right now. 

Not today, or tomorrow or any day after that. There was no point in being sad about missing something that he never had. 

As he thought back and couldn’t find any memories of those days, he took another drag and imagined. Just for a moment, a weak moment, what it would be like, to walk into a room with all of your friends. 

But even in his mind, in his fantasy, his “friends” had no faces. No voices. No real shapes. Because they weren’t real. 

Because Elias didn’t have friends. He knew that. Hell, the only person he regularly talked to was his dealer. And even that was a business transaction at most. 

He felt the blunt in his hands start to get too small, so he took one last strong hit before he pushed it out in the ashtray that he had stashed away in his desk. The only real evidence he was ever here.

He soaked in the bliss of an empty brain for a while. Trying to calm his body to a state where he could fall almost fall asleep.

Until there was a knock on his door and Elias was so surprised by it, that he almost fell out of his chair.

“Yes, come in,” he quickly responded and the door opened to the familiar face of his employer. James Wright. 

“Elias, could you see me in my office in two minutes. I have something to discuss with you,” the man said, his accent still weird to Elias’ ears after all this time. Probably because he barely spoke to the man.

“Sure, I will be there,” he tried to say as nonchalantly as he could, trying desperately to not come off as high and probably failing miserably.

  
Wright just nodded before closing the door again and as he did, Elias let his head drop into his hands. “I’m so fucking fired,” he mumbled into his palms. 

He waited around a minute, in which he silently panicked before he stood up and made his way towards the office of his boss.

If he had known that that was the last time he would ever smoke weed, he would have probably enjoyed it more, but, he couldn’t have known the future. 


End file.
